


At Midnight

by LondonKdS



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen, London Underground, Post-Canon, not s8 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-21
Updated: 2005-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25556605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonKdS/pseuds/LondonKdS
Summary: Giles and Andrew are asked to take part in a monster hunt in the London Underground.
Relationships: Rupert Giles & Andrew Wells





	At Midnight

A foul drizzle blanketed the streets around King's Cross, making homebound commuters feel as if they were walking through wet flannel. In the Skinner's Arms, however, it was warm and slightly drier. At the extreme rear of the pub, having casually picked a table with their backs to the wall and a good view of the entrance, were two men, the chairs opposite them ostentatiously occupied by clear plastic carrier bags bearing the brand of the British Library. The one sipping a pint of IPA was middle-aged but still handsome, despite or perhaps because of his greying hair and small-lensed spectacles. The nervous, long-haired young man drinking a Smirnoff Ice was shorter, slighter, and rather weak-faced. His looks were not helped by the rather adolescent petulance of his expression.

"Giles, that bar round the corner has lychee martinis," he moaned, then perked up slightly. "And a really good-looking barkeep."

"I object to paying five quid a bottle for crap American lager," Giles replied. With slightly more sympathy, he continued "And sorry Andrew, that barman was straight."

"He was giving me signals!" Andrew said indignantly.

"He'd give signals to anyone who tipped him that much, even if they were barely human." Giles smiled. "Talking of which, it's a good thing the BL started letting demons in. How long do you think it'd have taken us to translate that fragment if I hadn't seen that Bricharan's third ear under his beret?"

"Modern Bricharan isn't the same as 12th-century Bricharan. I still think that pictogram's hrr'chah instead of kinff, and that means…"

Giles was staring at the three men who had just walked into the pub and were expertly shouldering their way through the gathering crowd. "Andrew", he said quietly, "You've still got that dagger, haven't you?"

Without bothering to ask permission, the trio dumped the bags from the seats around the table and sat down, the third man grabbing an unoccupied stool. "Giles.", said their leader, a heavy-featured man with a restrained London accent. "Collins." Giles replied with equal flatness, then "Wetherby." to the thin-faced, leather-jacketed man who had entered second. He looked more curiously at the third and youngest of the threesome, a massively built but handsome young man with an open grin and a curious air of phlegmatic innocence. Giles immediately distrusted him.

Collins followed Giles's gaze. "That's Gerry Lugg," he announced. "Lugg, this is Mr. Giles. Used to work for the same people we did. Giles, Lugg was doing some freelance demon hunting when we came across him. Good bloke, even if he is a bit of a twat."

"Good evening, Mr. Giles," Lugg smiled with a slightly archaic politeness. "I have heard your name before. A friend of mine in Los Angeles spoke as highly of you as she ever did of anyone."

"I'm Andrew Wells," Andrew piped up. "I'm a trainee Watcher" he declared proudly, then crumpled slightly as the other four ignored his existence.

"What happened to your friend Smith?", Giles asked, "Nothing permanent I hope."

Wetherby broke in. "Had an accident with a helicopter. Fatal."

"Oh dear," Giles replied mildly.

"Your mate Angel chucked him out of it."

"Angel was never my 'mate'", said Giles with faint disgust. "Is that why you came to see me?"

"No," said Collins emolliently. "We're helping the Tube boys with a little problem that might be in your line."

"I thought you might be working for Wyndam-Pryce's bunch. Surely they've got people more skilled than I am."

"What?", said Collins, "That lot? Continuity Watchers' Council or I Can't Believe It's Not the Fucking Watchers' Council or whatever they're calling themselves?"

"Jumped-up old cunts", Wetherby interjected.

Collins quelled him with a look, and continued "Nah. Old Roger still isn't happy that we nearly shot his son that time, even if he does hate the twunt. Anyway, there's an old Tube station up the road in Holloway. Cairo Road, it's called. Got closed down back before the war. Last week the Tube sent someone up there to look around, make sure it was still sound. Never came back. Couple of days ago, they sent someone else. That one just made it back to the train. Some fucker ate both his legs off. Didn't manage to explain what it was before he snuffed it."

"Nasty," Giles murmured non-commitally.

"So the guy at the Tube used to talk to the old Council about that sort of problem didn't know who to ask, what with most of them being dead. But he asked around and someone passed him on to us. We asked around and guess who bought the bit of the station above ground when they finally sold it after the war?"

"No doubt you'll tell me."

Collins grinned. "Bill Carnacki."

"Oh bugger.", Giles muttered.

Andrew regathered his courage. "Um. What does that mean?"

Giles sighed. "Grandson of Tom Carnacki, who was a complete bloody amateur who set himself up as an exorcist and demon hunter. The old Council tried to shut him down several times, but he kept popping up again. Specialised in getting jobs by bullshitting and getting his clients killed through utter incompetence."

"Yeah," Collins agreed. "Some old magic types still say 'I really Carnackied that one' when they fuck up. The grandson started a magic shop in the old station. We had a word with him."

"Is he still alive?", Giles asked mildly.

"Yeah, what do you think we are? But he finally told us about this bright idea he had. Since nineteen-fucking-fifty, every time he did some potion or other that didn't work, rather than make a bit of effort and destroy it, guess what?"

Giles groaned. "He pulled up the floorboards and chucked it down the old lift shaft?"

"Bingo. So there could be fucking anything down there now. Mutant vermin, full-on thaumogenetic crap, fuck knows."

"I see why you need a hand."

"Yeah," Collins replied, "I mean, if whatever's down there's corporeal, we can fucking twat it, no problem. But you know me and Wetherby, when it comes to magic we can't even float a condom. What I was thinking, we go to King's Cross, jump on a train and have a look round. Cautiously. If we can deal with what's down there, we deal with it, if not we leg it and call in some serious firepower. What do you think? There might even be a little drink in it for you. 'Course, if you aren't up for it we can go and brownnose Roger…"

Giles drained the last of his pint. "Oh, I don't think you'll need to do that. Now, what sort of thing did Carnacki throw down that shaft?"

***********************************************************************

Andrew peered down the endless metal-lined bore in front of him. There had been a lot more discussion in the pub, most of which had gone completely over his head. No-one had objected to him coming with them, although no-one had seemed to pay much attention to him. They'd taken a cab to Giles's flat in Highbury to collect assorted bottles and photocopied pages, then to a shop in Hackney with painted out windows where Collins, Wetherby, and the silent Lugg had been passed ominously weighted carrier bags by a grim-faced man who had suffered some horrible accident to his ears. Finally, they'd returned to King's Cross and spoken to the stationmaster, who had arranged a convenient security alert that had closed the Piccadilly Line between King's Cross and Finsbury Park. Now they were crammed into the cab of an empty tube train rumbling north from King's Cross, along with a terrified driver who was barely calmed by assurances that he wouldn't be expected to leave the safety of the train.

The train jolted to a stop in a suddenly wider section of tunnel. A blackened brick wall stood to their right, the cab door brought up parallel to the only gap in it. Collins flicked his torch on and stepped warily through. The others cautiously followed him as Wetherby ordered the driver to wait. Their torchlights revealed an abandoned platform thick with drifts of blackish grey dust. Huge letters marked out in the art nouveau wall tiling reading "CAIRO ROAD" were interspersed by grimy, faded advertisements. "Guinness is Good For You". "Nutrax For Nerves". "Whiffle Your Way Round Britain". Abandoned track components and cable were scattered around. They crept towards the cross-passage, flicking their torches around the whole space, their footsteps kicking up puffs of dust. The little group huddled together in the cross-passage.

"The lift shaft's up that way, if we can trust the plan," Collins explained, pointing up a straight flight of steps to their right. "Wetherby, Giles, come with me and see what's up there. Lugg, take Andrew and make sure there's nothing hanging round on that platform. When you've sorted things out, meet us up there."

As Andrew and Lugg peered around the corner of the cross-passage, Collins, Wetherby and Giles headed up the steps. At the top, a round tunnel stretched out before them. They walked quietly, but with increasing confidence, down it until they passed the entrance to the short corridor that led to the emergency stairs. The tiled end of the passage emerged from the gloom in front of them. A hideous stench attacked their noses, somewhere between mould, vomit, and rotten meat. To their left was the pit of the lift shaft, now empty and protected by a rather ineffectual-looking railing. As Giles moved his torch away from the shaft, he noticed a soft, sickly yellow glow colouring the wall above it. Mildly disturbed, he leaned over to peer into the pit. A high yelp sounded from the platforms, ominously cut off. Shocked, Giles turned towards the noise, just in time to see Wetherby swinging a pistol at his head.

Andrew edged down the second platform , his torchlight revealing only the same dust and the occasional panicking mouse. "This is a waste of time", he complained. "Nothing's been here for years." Suddenly Lugg leaped upon him and twisted his arm up his back, hard. Andrew dropped his torch and shrieked in pain and shock, until Lugg clapped his hand over his mouth, cutting the yell off.

"I am sorry for that," Lugg whispered. "It was necessary. Will you promise to listen if I release you?" Andrew nodded and Lugg let go.

"When Mr. Collins told me to 'sort things out', it was a code that we use," Lugg explained in a low voice. "They meant that I was to take you here and murder you."

Andrew froze, then slumped in realisation. "You are working for the Continuity Council."

"Yes. I did not realise until now that we were to kill Mr. Giles. Mr. Collins and Mr. Wetherby often do not tell me our full orders until the moment has come." Lugg sighed. "This is an act too disgraceful for me to perform. The path of a true Champion is to destroy the evil and protect the innocent. Those two men only care about half of that."

Andrew retrieved his torch and set off back towards the cross-passage. "We have to save Giles!"

Lugg put a hand on his shoulder. "We must move more quietly, and without light. I believe that they are planning to make Giles's death 'deniable', as they call it. They will not have killed him yet."

Curled into a foetal position, Giles tried to cling on to the fact that he'd felt worse. Collins and Wetherby were no Angeluses, at any rate. Although what they lacked in skill and imagination was, to a certain extent, made up by simple, direct, enthusiasm. After pistol-whipping him, they'd now moved on to the size twelves.

"Thought you could fucking well take advantage, didn't you?", Collins yelled. "Almost everyone's dead, so you think a useless cunt like you can take charge of hundreds of new Slayers?" Wetherby grunted and kicked Giles between the kidneys. "Don't know why that one you had first is still taking orders from you. You shagging her? Or that little poof you were with tonight?"

There was a outraged shout. Giles turned his head and glimpsed Andrew and Lugg slipping up the corridor from the platforms, Lugg looking somewhat annoyed at Andrew's outburst. Collins drew his pistol as he turned, and fired a wild shot at them. The pair ducked hastily into the entrance to the emergency stairs. Lugg popped his head and gun arm round the corner and fired a shot that clanged off the tiles of the tunnel end.  
"We need to go," Collins ordered Wetherby. "Get on with it." Wetherby bent down towards Giles, pulling a plastic bag from his jacket. To Giles's surprise, he removed two raw pork chops from it and mockingly dangled them before Giles's face. He tossed one onto the ground about half way to the shaft, then drew his arm back and threw the second, hard, directly into the shaft. There was a wet splotch, followed by a curious gurgling, sloshing sound.. Both Collins and Wetherby suddenly sprinted for the platforms, firing randomly towards the emergency staircase as they ran to discourage pursuit. Their torch lights bobbed as they hurried down the steps and disappeared round the corner to the train.

Giles began to crawl away from the pit, then felt a burning pain in his foot and ankle. He looked back and saw a that a foul mass of yellow jelly had oozed up over the edge of the pit, swallowed up the pork chop, followed the trail of meat in curiosity, and was now nuzzling his foot. Horrified, he saw the leather shoe rapidly eaten away. As soon as his skin was revealed, the pain increased to such a screaming pitch that the effects of the beating overtook him and he passed into unconsciousness.

Andrew and Lugg stepped out of the passage and gaped at the shapeless mass of glowing yellow slime hauling itself out of the lift pit with a repulsive slithering, slurping sound and beginning to swallow up Giles's right leg. Wordlessly, they each grabbed one of his arms and tried to drag him away. The mass of slime surrounding his foot stretched out in a sticky skein and parted from the main body. Horrified, they saw his skin disappearing within it, revealing layers of fascia and muscle. Andrew summoned all his mental concentration. "By Thor, raise the lightning!", he screamed at the top of his voice. A surprisingly weedy lightning bolt burst from his finger and struck the layer of slime on Giles's foot, burning it to ash. Andrew gasped, and dropped Giles's arm. Lugg lifted the unconscious man in a fireman's lift, and the two ran back down the passage. To Andrew's horror, the distant sound of the train leaving towards Caledonian Road clattered up towards them.

Andrew looked back and stifled a sob as he saw a glob of snot the size of a small car, oozing down the passage after them with frightening speed. "Summon your strength!", Lugg encouraged him. "Burn that foul creature to atoms, as you did its limb."

"Who do you think I am, Doctor Strange?", Andrew gasped. "That was all I had. I won't be able to do anything for a month now." He leaped down the steps, landed awkwardly and swore in pain, then hobbled onto the platform. A whisper in the back of his mind ran "All you have to do is move quicker than Lugg, he's carrying Giles, maybe it'll stop to eat them and you can get away…" He shook his head furiously until it stopped. Lugg burst from the cross-passage like a wide receiver racing for the end zone. "What do we do?", Andrew yelled. Lugg dropped Giles and pulled a sawn-off shotgun out of his coat. "Yeah, as if that'll work on something with no organs", Andrew thought. He flashed the torch frantically around the platform. Chairs, sleepers, rail, cable… Cable! Andrew grabbed a long coil of cable. Lugg looked at him bemusedly "The current," he explained. When that thing gets down here, one end goes into it, the other one on the third rail."

"Which is the third rail?" Lugg asked.

Andrew looked over the platform and counted the rails. One. Two. Three. Four. "Oh shit," he thought, then looked closer. "The one in the middle there, with the big insulators under it, must be." He heard the slurping noise suddenly become louder, looked round, and saw the glowing yellow mass seeping quickly down the cross-passage towards them. This close, he could see in the torchlight that it was shot through with the hard parts of digested insects and, horribly, bones, some of them tiny but one obviously a human ribcage, blackened by digestive juices. With a shudder, he tossed the end of the cable into the thing and screamed briefly as a pseudopod began to rush up the cable towards his hand. Frantically, he tossed the other end of the cable onto the live rail. There was a flash of arcing, then a disgusting, sludgy noise somewhere between a bubble and a sizzle and an even worse smell that made him vomit onto the track. He saw the mass of slime begin to boil and carbonise. Finally, to his relief, the main mass of the thing broke away from the burning section and rapidly retreated back towards the lift shaft, its miniscule sentience instinctively fleeing from the hazard.

***********************************************************************

Andrew found it happily difficult to remember the dreadful stagger down the tunnel towards Caledonian Road, carrying Giles between them, desperately avoiding the live rail in the dangerously swaying torchlight and praying that Collins and Wetherby had not thought to start the trains running again. At last, they had staggered into the light of the station, barely able to clamber up onto the platform and too exhausted to be alert for further danger. Fortunately, the two hitmen had made their excuses to the station staff and departed in a hurry. At the time, Andrew hadn't thought to speculate on where they'd gone.

The A & E staff had examined him and Lugg and diagnosed nothing worse than exhaustion. To Andrew's surprise, Lugg's examination had revealed some aspects of anatomy and metabolism which were well beyond the limits of human variation. Fortunately, a couple of phone calls to numbers in Giles's address book had miraculously reduced the hospital's curiosity. Giles's legendarily hard head had not suffered any serious damage from the battering Collins and Wetherby had given him, but he had come down with a combination of blood poisoning and raw magic exposure from his contact with the appalling mass of corruption in the lift shaft. Furthermore, his foot had needed skin grafts. It was only a few days later that Andrew was able to have much of a conversation with him.

It was shocking to Andrew how vulnerable Giles looked in the hospital bed. He cautiously removed the bottle of Glenmorangie from its carrier bag and, at the direction of Giles's glance, quickly hid it in the bedside cabinet. "Hi, Giles," he said worriedly.

Giles looked up at him. "I suppose I owe you my life, as they say," he murmured.

"Er, Lugg did most of it," said Andrew. "But I was the one who drove the Blob away!" he said proudly.

"Good. What happened to it in the end?"

"A couple of Willow's friends came up from Somerset and nuked it. I wasn't there, but they said it was really cool."

"What about Collins and Wetherby?", Giles asked ominously. "And what the hell did they think they were playing at?"

Andrew thought for a moment. "Well, they were working for the Continuity Council. Apparently Wyndam-Pryce… he never met Buffy of course… he thought that you were in charge of the whole Slayer Union. Couldn't imagine a bunch of girls could run things themselves."

"Idiot."

"Yeah. Collins and Wetherby thought we were all dead and jumped on a plane to Rome to show Buffy who was boss."

Giles smiled. "And did she?"

"Um… it wasn't really her. I phoned Faith in Boston and she got Willow to teleport her to meet them."

Giles attempted outrage. "That was a most irresponsible thing to do. I hope your soul has been tormenting you ever since."

Andrew said in a small voice "They called me a poof."

Giles gave up the attempt and chuckled. "I hope she didn't go too far."

"Oh no", Andrew hastened to assure him. "They should be out of the hospital next week. But I heard Wetherby might never be able to bend his knee."

"And Lugg?"

"He wants a job."

"Well, he certainly seems a good man."

Andrew looked thoughtful. "Yes, he'd been hanging out with those two other guys for months, and it was still, like, there was a line he wouldn't cross, even though the other two were total psychos who'd kill anyone who looked at them the wrong way…" Andrew's voice tailed off and he looked as if he had just thought of something he hadn't wanted to. "He's not just a man though." Andrew brightened up. "It's really cool. He's half demon, and he was like Conan the Barbarian where he grew up, and he overthrew these evil priests who were oppressing everyone and fell in love with a human woman and came to Earth to find her only she was in love with someone else and broke his heart and he's been wandering around doing good and he has the most amazing shoulders and eyes…" Andrew turned scarlet and shut up.

Giles grinned. He was still alive, Andrew had a new crush and, thank God, it wasn't him. Things would have to be sorted out with Roger, but on the whole, it could be worse.


End file.
